


Like Ripping Off A Bandaid

by fusion-ego (Nerd_of_Camelot)



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Chase Is Getting Better, Chase Is Getting Therapy, Depression, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mental Health Issues, Other, Suicidal Thoughts, only referenced though, the OC is Chase's therapist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 13:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15559221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerd_of_Camelot/pseuds/fusion-ego
Summary: Chase has been going to therapy for something like six months.And, even though he thought they never would... Things are getting better.





	Like Ripping Off A Bandaid

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little something I scribbled out partially as a vent and mostly because it felt like a suitable alternative to me drawing something for KJSE's anniversary.
> 
> It's still just barely August 3rd here, so...

It had taken some serious convincing from Shneep to get him to do it, but Chase had been attending counseling for about six and a half months.

He’d been against it, at first. He’d shot down Shneep’s suggestion of it every time it came up. But eventually he was drunk enough and fed up enough with his own shit that he agreed, and the very next day Shneep took him up to the local counseling center to fill out the paperwork. He wasn’t friendly during that process, was hardly even _pleasant,_ but he could mostly attribute that to being incredibly hungover and angry at himself for agreeing to this.

It had taken about the first month for him to open up to his therapist at all aside from the basics that Shneep provided her with during the initial evaluation. Shneep had had to be there because Chase, drunk again, had requested it because he knew he couldn’t trust sober him to give truthful answers to the questions.

But eventually there’d been a diagnosis, _Major Depression Disorder,_ and Shneep had decided that being around for every single session wasn’t something that was going to help Chase in the long run. Chase really did appreciate that, even if it would have been easier to have him around.

He’d been rather standoffish for the first month, regardless.

And then, during one session, much like ripping off a bandaid, everything came spilling out. He told her about Stacy, about the kids, about the drinking, about how Anti both antagonized him over all of it and supported him in his own fucked up way, about how he tried so hard not to seem depressed, tried so hard to be himself, but it all felt _wrong._ He told her how even things he enjoyed before felt like obligations. Like jobs. He told her how much he just wanted to off himself and get it over with, and he was sobbing and burying his face into his hands, unable to keep talking.

At the end of the session he still hadn’t spoken again, instead listening to his doctor speak in low, soothing tones, explaining to him gently that what he felt was valid. That it was okay to feel that way. That he was doing his best on his own, and even though his best wasn’t quite enough to get him better just yet, one day it would be. He just needed to let those around him help.

He was still crying, just not as hard, when he got up, left the room with her, and waved goodbye even as he pulled his hood over his face.

Shneep was already waiting for him outside.

He’d been concerned by Chase’s crying, but didn’t do much about it aside from offering a hug and a quick trip to a nearby convenience store for a pint of ice cream, both of which Chase gratefully accepted. It was enough from Shneep that he’d been concerned at all.

And when he got home, he felt… Just a little better. Not a lot - just a little.

But he felt _better_ and that was what mattered.

And since then, he’d more or less put his complete faith in his doctor, trusting her to listen and help him through whatever he was struggling with at the time.

… He needed that today more than any other, admittedly.

He’d finally seen his kids again, finally gotten to see them because word had gotten ‘round to Stacy that he was drinking less and that, for some reason, at last prompted her to send the kids over to the house. He’d been apprehensive, at first, when Shneep told him they were there. But he’d swallowed his fears and went to greet them, getting happy hugs from both of them. He felt good.

But, of course, their conversation, despite his attempts to steer it in other directions, eventually came to how Stacy was and what she was doing, and the kids started in on her and her new boyfriend. Seemed they didn’t like him very much, from what Chase could gather, primarily because he was trying to be their dad and they didn’t want him to be their dad. That they still wanted him as their dad warmed Chase’s heart, but it also made his blood boil that some _upstart_ would try to take his wife _and_ his kids from him.

Eventually Stacy had come back around to pick them up.

Her boyfriend was with her.

Chase held a brief, but surprisingly civil, conversation with them.

“You must be Chase.” The boyfriend greeted, offering his hand.

To his credit, he seemed like a nice enough guy. Chase shook his hand and greeted him in return. Stacy watched the exchange like a hawk, and when she evidently decided Chase was acting in a suitable manner, she approached.

Primarily, they talked about the kids. Chase kept his input rather guarded, but mentioned he’d appreciate seeing them more often. He didn’t mention that he still wanted Stacy back. He didn’t mention how much he wanted to punch her new boyfriend in the throat. He could let go. He _could._

Stacy threw out that, now that she knew he wasn’t “going to go psycho” on them, someone would be bringing by the divorce papers sometime soon. Chase clenched his jaw, and his fists inside his hoodie pocket, but nodded his acknowledgement. She then mentioned that she’d probably bring the kids by again in a week or so, and that they could talk about custody things when the divorce proceedings began.

He managed to get through the entire exchange without reacting in a visibly hostile or otherwise negative way, but the moment he was sure they were gone he stormed back inside and up to his room and left a rather nasty looking hole in the closet door with his fist.

Good thing he already had an appointment today.

He wrapped his bleeding knuckles on his own, without letting Shneep know he’d hurt himself, and waited around for someone to give him a ride to the counseling center.

Shneep ended up doing it, as usual.

“So how are you today?” Dr. Shaw asked as they seated themselves in her office.

“... Not great.” He admitted, chewing on the inside of his cheek and fidgeting with the gauze on his hand. “Not terrible, either, but not great.”

“Did something happen?” She asked, eyes catching on his wrapped hand.

He nodded, took a deep breath, and explained, “Stacy brought the kids by to see me today. It was great. I don’t think I have to tell you how much I missed them.” He laughed slightly, “Turns out she’s got a boyfriend, though. Some hotshot who thinks that just because he’s dating her, he’s suddenly their dad.”

“You don’t like that.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, no I don’t. I hate it. But the kids don’t like it either, so at least there’s that.” Another deep breath, “Got to meet him when Stacy came to pick them up.”

Her eyes flicked to his knuckles again, eyebrows lifting in obvious concern.

“I didn’t punch him,” Chase assured her, “I wanted to, but I didn’t. And he- He seems like a nice dude. He really does. But he’s dating my wife and trying to take over fathering _my_ kids.” Even Chase caught the way he didn’t put emphasis on the possessive when it came to Stacy - only the kids. “It’s enough to make me want to hate him. I don’t want to be like that, but…” He shook his head. “I’m still learning my boundaries but he’s pushed past a lot of them already, you know?”

She nodded. She gave him time to continue speaking, but he figured she probably had something to say, so he let her. “Did you mention any of this to him? Or to Stacy?”

He shook his head. “No. I didn’t think it’d get me anywhere, honestly. Especially not since Stacy’s having me served with divorce papers sometime in the near future.” He sighed, then shrugged with one shoulder, “I managed to be civil and not bring up anything that would start a fight, though, so…”

“I’m glad,” She told him, “But what about your hand?”

“I punched my closet door once they were gone.” Another one-shouldered shrug. “I knew it was a bad idea but it was better than just letting it fester forever.”

“I can’t argue that.” She sighed, “Maybe you should invest in something that you could use to vent aggressions like this in a healthier fashion.”

He considered that. “Maybe.” He agreed after a moment, then hummed, “I mean… I used to work out to calm down, so maybe that’ll still work?”

“It might,” She encouraged, smiling, “Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

There was.

So he talked about the other things he’d been meaning to bring up. But eventually, talk came back around to what had happened today, and he found he… Wasn’t as okay with everything as he’d thought he was. Damn it. There went his happy delusions.

“What are your plans for this divorce? Are you going to allow it to go through?”

“... If this is what she wants, it’s what she wants,” Chase grumbled, “I can’t change her mind. I won’t like it, but… yeah. I’ll go through with it.”

“I want you to think about something for me, Chase.” Dr. Shaw said after a moment of silence between them, “I want you to think about it carefully.” When he nodded to show he was listening, she continued, “If I had asked you that question six months ago, would your answer have been the same?”

Chase wanted to say yes. He wanted to say yes so badly. He wanted to pretend that he’d always been willing to just let Stacy go. He wanted to seem like the kind of guy who just wanted her to be happy, even if she wasn’t happy with him. But he knew he wasn’t that person - not when it came to Stacy. He’d never been able to be that person with Stacy. He wanted _both_ of them to be happy, as well as their kids. Most of all he wanted their kids happy and he wanted Stacy because she was a good mom and she put up with him and his shit.

He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.

“No.” He admitted softly, “No, six months ago I would have said that she could take the divorce papers and shove them. I’d have said I wasn’t letting her go. Probably would have said a lot of shit about how it wasn’t fair that I tried so hard and she just fucking left. But six months ago I spent almost every day drunk off my ass trying to forget and only making things worse in the process, so…”

“You’ve made a lot of progress,” Dr. Shaw told him gently, “I know you’re still working through things, and you’re by no means cured of your depression - I think that’s something you’ll have to work at for a while -, but you’re doing much better. The fact that you acknowledge the difference in what you would have answered, and are willing to admit to not having always been able to give such a positive answer, tells me you’re doing better than maybe even you think you are.”

“Maybe I am,” He sighed, “But I’m not quite where I want to be. I want to be better than this. If not for me, then for my kids, you know?”

“That’s a good way to frame it,” She assured him, “If making it about being better for them makes it easier, or gives you more drive to try, then by all means you should. But you should be getting better for yourself, too.”

“I am getting better for myself.” He said firmly, but not angrily. “But on the days when I can’t justify trying for me, I usually… I usually think of my kids. When I feel like I’m slipping I tell myself that if I don’t get better, if I can’t pull myself together, I’ll never see them again. I don’t want that. I don’t want that so strongly that it’s been enough to make me get out of bed on days I didn’t wanna do anything except lay there and die. It’s been enough to make me cut back a little on the drinking, too. And that’s why I got to see them today!” He brightened visibly, even by his own standards, “Stacy heard from someone, not sure who, that I wasn’t drinking as much, so she brought them by! And I might get to see them next week, too.”

“Having something to look forward to definitely helps.” Dr. Shaw chuckled, “It looks like we’re running out of time - is there anything else you want to talk about? I have a few minutes before my next appointment.”

“No,” He said, taking a breath, “There’s nothing else. Thanks.” He managed to smile as she began writing out his next appointment date. They quickly discussed what day and time would be best. “See you next time, doc!”

“See you, Chase.”

He felt a little lighter leaving the office.

… Maybe things were going to be okay, after all.

That thought was only cemented by the fact that he knew, six months ago, he wasn’t likely to have thought things were ever going to be okay again. Six months ago he was thinking of the easiest way to get himself killed without it looking like a suicide, because he was obviously never going to see his kids again, and he was never going to get Stacy back, and, damn, it’d be so much easier to just piss Anti off and let him do the rest.

He shook his head, hopping into Shneep’s car. Yeah. Things were going to be okay.

Everything was going to be okay.


End file.
